by Nova McBee
She was the queen of hell on earth.
The next morning, I headed to the pool, wishing the filthiness I felt for my part in Madame’s horrors could wash off in the chlorine. I had finally learned exactly what she smuggled. Her cargo could be in this hotel.
The United Nations report that I had read in the file played like a broken record in my head: “International Criminal Mastermind, Madame, who has evaded arrest for more than 20 years, has officially grossed more than $1 billion on hidden smuggling-trade routes, with sophisticated operations that overlap with criminal gangs who traffic in arms, drugs, prostitution and trafficking.”
Smuggler.
Trafficker.
Mastermind.
The puzzle pieces of all her investments finally fit together, showing me a clear picture. Operating as M’s Textiles, Madame successfully hid her most precious imports in plain sight. With each new expo, she publicly displayed her new “line” for each season. Her products were rare, expensive, and symmetrically perfect. Some clients saw exotic textiles draped over girls, other customers saw exotic girls draped with textiles.
Human lives. My life.
The file contained confidential police reports full of other pictures too: women with blonde hair, blue eyes. Pitch black hair, green eyes, glasses. Brown hair and pink lipstick. The differences were striking, but all of them were her. All of them were Madame.
And of course, gold was encoded into everything that she did. Names. Cities. Airlines. She really was obsessed.
Last night, when it hit me that Madame used my genius to finance her malicious operations, things got dark. The last candle in my world was snuffed out because I knew these crimes were on my head too.
A nauseating guilt churning inside me soon morphed into pure rage. It took everything in me not to scream bloody murder—not to want her dead, her ashes burning for a thousand years in hell—but death would be too easy. Any mercy I had for her vanished. Even now, I trembled with adrenaline so violent, so bent on her demise that I thought it might be possible my intent alone could slay her.
I dove into a focused and furious lap swim to think and solidify today’s plan.
First, I’d transmit the rest of the information about Madame and my captivity into cyber space using Arrow-Mail, a handy PSS invention. Surprisingly, the link worked yesterday.
Arrow-Mail was an intelligent spam, only invisible and much more precise. It only hit your tagged targets and was able to penetrate security systems. Arrow-Mail was never open to the public and those at Stanley who knew about it were sworn to secrecy. I was pretty sure they’d forgive my violation of it. I just hoped whatever authority received it, believed it.
The only glitch was that Arrow-Mail couldn’t deliver big files. It was one mega-bite at a time. In my case, my tagged targets were the police, Interpol, FBI, and CIA, so I had to send the most relevant information first. To be safe, I uploaded all three files but only sent one small file last night. I’d send the other two bigger files today. Too much fiddling with a system would cause alarm.
Celia was coming home tonight. And by now some authority would have received my first bit of information. If they followed the trail, it would lead to Madame, and to me. Which authority would it be, I wondered? FBI? Interpol? CIA? Had they already started tracking her?
In the locker room, I’d just covered myself with the robe that Madame gave me when Lev entered, wasted drunk. Every muscle in me tensed.
“Morning, servant girl.” The smell of baijiu was strong on his breath. His eyes were glazed over, and it looked like he hadn’t slept all night. Calculations graphed out three exits, two possible weapons, and a hundred ways that seemed to shout flee. I backed up. He moved closer. “Swim?”
“Sorry, Lev,” I tried to say with a steady voice. “I’m not the prince of the castle. I have to work.” I looked around for the guard.
“You think of me as a prince?” He tugged at the belt on my robe, and it came loose. I backed away, but he came even closer. Too close. His snakelike breath was on my neck. “What if the prince has fallen in love with the slave girl?”
I froze in place, calculations firing like crazy. I needed to leave, fast. “Guard Ma!” I shouted out. But Ma didn’t come.
“He’s occupied.” Lev took my hand. “Follow me.”
“No. Go away, Lev!” He still had a hold of my robe. I pushed him in the chest, but he yanked on my sleeve. To get away, I let the robe slip off my body and into his hands. Crap. Now I was in my bathing suit, exposed. I ran toward the door, but he followed.
“Don’t torture me anymore, Octavia,” he whispered. “Don’t let Celia stop us from the love we deserve. You’re always alone. So am I. If she has her way, we’ll be alone forever.”
“No, Lev. Celia loves you. I won’t betray her.” I calculated his next move and blocked his hand.
“But I have something of yours. If you want it back, you’ll do as I say.” Something of mine? What was he talking about?
But I couldn’t ask because he was too close. Too volatile. Too hungry. I had to say something to make him stop. My legs were shaking. “You shouldn’t do this. If she learns of your behavior…”
“You’re threatening me?” His voice became angry. On the table there was a small wooden tissue box. My hand grappled for it, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“Reminding you that you have it all,” I choked out. “I’m just a slave.”
“I could free you. We could escape together,” he said, voice soft again.
“No.” I threw the wooden box at him as hard as I could then darted for the door.
Still in my bathing suit, I ran as fast as I could to my room, leaving my robe hanging in Lev’s hands. The last thing I heard was Lev’s threatening voice.
“You’ll regret that!”
The door was ajar when I reached my room. Someone had been here. Lev must have come looking for me. I scrambled the code and double locked it. There was no way he could get in.
Safe inside, I dropped to the floor—crying, disgusted—processing what happened or rather, what almost happened. “You’re okay, Jo,” I repeated to myself. “Nothing happened. You’re alright.”
Shivers. I needed clothes—on my body—shielding me. I fumbled for a minute in the wardrobe. My hands felt numb and shaky. Whatever I grabbed, it was gray and thick. Gray jeans, black sweater, and a dark gray leather jacket. I zipped the jacket up to my neck. I pulled on my boots that stretched to my knees. I wanted to be hidden by many layers.
Even after I was fully dressed, I found the corner of the room that was most concealed behind my bed and slid down into the tight space, trying to sink into oblivion, trying to think through this. It was time I told Madame everything.
I pulled on my jacket zipper, but it was already all the way up. No pool for me ever again. After six minutes I went over to my desk. The computer was missing!
Lev’s voice in my ear was crystal clear now. “I have something of yours…”
Without it there were no more files to send. My chance at freedom was gone. My opportunity to expose her was lost.
I called for Guard Ma, but there was no answer. I called another guard. Nothing. I could risk getting it back, but there was no telling what Lev would do.
I dropped to my knees. A soundless scream dropped from my lips and onto the floor. It was too late. Madame was nearly home.
13
Past: Octavia
GOLDEN ANGEL HOTEL, SHANGHAI, CHINA
There were hundreds of abnormalities on the wall in my room. Dings. Discolored areas. I knew—I’d recounted them for four hours until a guard signaled on the intercom.
“Madame just pulled in,” he informed me. “We’re taking her luggage in now. She’s coming to see you.”
What was I going to say?
I had to choose my words carefully. Lev was her anchor. If I informed her of how deep his betrayal went, she just might crack. If I didn’t things would only get worse. Why didn’t I tell her about the othe
r women earlier? It would have been easier, more believable. But in some sick twisted way, she trusted me, loved me. I anchored my chances on the fact she promised she wouldn’t hurt me again. But what if she saw the files I opened on her computer?
By dinner there was still no sign of Madame. I began to think things would be okay. Maybe she knew about Lev. Maybe she’d been dealing with him. Maybe our lives would be rid of that nasty eel.
I sank down on the black leather couch. Just as I closed my eyes and relaxed, screams came from the hall followed by pounding on my door.
Less than a 15% chance that something good would come from that.
The keypad clicked open.
Celia was at the door. Her eyes were wild, like a soulless beast—void of warmth, like the first time I met her. My robe hung from her fist.
She threw it in my face and screamed.
Lev lied. About everything.
For five incoherent minutes Madame repeated his fabricated stories; namely, that for months, I’d flirted with him and pursued him secretly.
“I trusted you, Octavia, with everything I owned.” The sting of betrayal was in her eyes. “I chose you. You were the one. I should have known better.”
Celia wanted to hurt me, but her hand held back even now. “How could you?” she snapped. I’d never seen her hesitate to punish people. She never talked it out. But was that what she was doing with me now? Maybe she’d listen. I searched for that glimmer of humanity as I talked.
“Celia,” I said. “I swear I’d never do this to you. Lev betrays you with all kinds of girls when you’re not here. I should have told you earlier. I didn’t know how. I never thought he would come on to me because you warned everyone to leave me alone.”
Her face twitched with doubt. If she were any other human, I would have wagered on the odds of her believing me. But after I factored in her insanity…
A stagnant three seconds later her icy mask went back up. “How dare you accuse Lev to save your own skin.” The minute it came out, she twitched again.
“Celia. Trust me. I know you genuinely love Lev. But he doesn’t love you.” As I spoke, the glimmer of a young girl flickered in her eyes. No matter how wicked she was, she was still a woman who wanted a loyal mate. I got bolder. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that. Send him away. I’ll stay with you.”
She shook her head. “I tried to protect you, Octavia. Tried to save you. I wanted to give you everything. But I realize there’s no going back.”
She called out for Guard Ma. His footsteps picked up speed down the hall.
“Celia,” I said, trembling. “Lev will hurt you again. But I’m helping you, remember?”
“I don’t need you anymore. Because of you my income will triple for the next decade,” she said coldly and laughed. “It’s funny, the timing of this. Considering the fate of your family.” Her lips twisted and puckered.
“What are you talking about?” She pulled out an article.
Before she crushed it in her palm, I caught the headline and date. Boating accident in Seattle leaves family of three dead.
“I told you we would pull it off. You can finally join your traitor family.”
I dropped to the floor. A ringing—no—blaring pierces my ears. I was dizzy-sick as the headline ripped holes in my brain, cut down my chest and into my stomach. They’re dead?
“What will you do with me?” I cried.
“I’ve thought about that all afternoon.” She sounded normal again, like at so many of our meals together. Guard Ma arrived at the door. Celia’s smile almost looks warm. “I want you to suffer your greatest fear, darling. I know just the person to arrange your long date under water. Ma, take her to the Port Lands. Give her to King.”
14
Present: Phoenix
SHANGHAI TOWER, SHANGHAI, CHINA
My first day in Chan’s company is half over. I’ve completed three days of work, but my mind feels as if it’s been only a minute. I’m jittery, wired like I had ten cups of coffee, yet I force myself to take it slowly. I don’t need to rush. I need to put all my chess pieces into place.
Chan didn’t look surprised when I requested lunch in my office, but he was alarmed when I told him his company’s glitch had not been found yet. I failed to mention I hadn’t researched it at all. Could it really be that bad?
After lunch, I jump back on Chan’s computer, thankful to finally have non-traceable, censor-free devices at my disposal.
The first thing I do is type into the search engine that random Australian phone number I found in Madame’s odd empty file. A nursing home website appears. Summer Set Nursing Home. The main office is in Brisbane with branches all over Australia, normal finances. Nothing significant about it.
I’m perplexed. Why would Madame keep the number for an Australian nursing home in a secret floating file? Is it for herself? Someone she knows? Is she hiding money in their system? I knew a boy who could do that at PSS. Or it could be a red herring. I’ll look into it later. For now, I’ve got to think.
Next, I pull up the files that I hid in Arrow Mail’s database. Thankfully, they were easily recovered.
I shake my head as I review her worldwide streams of information, distribution, and cooperation. There are seven leaders all over the world but it’s no wonder Shanghai is her favorite city. It holds the busiest container port in the world. Her cargo can go in and out without getting noticed, not to mention King and all her loyal men inside customs and at the port. Her business, like the Shanghai Port, is a small empire.
There are three ways to enter her domain. The Port. The Shipping Company. Her Textile Company.
I start with Golden Global Shipping, which is also a dirty operation, run by one of the seven leaders in her web of crime, Haddock, an American businessman. I used to be able to work on her shipping accounts online—not knowing what her cargo was—but now my old access codes are denied.
If I can get in, I could reroute her shipments carrying to ports where the authorities can receive them. Shut down her trafficking avenues. Expose her. Ruin her.
My body hardens as I remember that I lived with her, ate at her table, all the while she pillaged the world, and then there were the expos...
This coming Expo in Shanghai will be her last.
The authorities wonder why she hasn’t been caught, but to me, it’s obvious. It’s like she doesn’t exist. There is no proof of her smuggling. No trace of her tainted money. First of all, she uses a highly advanced form of crypto-currency. Second, her accounts are woven into a complicated web of routing numbers. It’s like her money just disappears. If I want to be in control of her empire and expose her, there’s no way around it—I need a way to trace her accounts.
As I review old expo records left in the file, numbers stick out like sore thumbs. M’s Textiles has two types of buyers and for certain buyers she encoded the transfer routing number with what looks like a spin code.
Spin codes? How is she smart enough to do that? Who taught her to do that? I thought only PSS knew about spin codes. Essentially, spin codes are numerical passwords that open a back door. It’s simple: You enter the routing number, the spin code scrambles, decoding a password, and opening a route to a new path.
I click on one of them to test my theory. It begins to scramble the routing number then stops.
Expired.
I click on another. Expired.
So that’s it. Celia uses a spin code to make her transfers, which makes it untraceable to banks or authorities, then she eliminates the middle-man account. Fool proof.
Very few people are able to trace a spin code because the numbers scramble so fast. Fortunately, I could, if I had a chance to see it. And if I get an active spin code, it can act as a chain-entry into all her accounts, gaining access to all her money.
But when and where do buyers get the routing number?
They could get it from King, but a more logical answer is that Celia makes the buyer do the deal at the expo. An illegal operation
in an open legal environment: once the deal is done, the routing number expires. Celia is always ahead of the game.
So that means…theoretically, the buyer gets a guaranteed glimpse of the routing number. Madame knows no average buyer or even the police could trace a routing number with a spin code—it scrambles for mere seconds…but a buyer like me could. I could memorize it as it scrambles. It’s the only guaranteed way to get what I want.
I push away from the computer, fingers frozen.
All along I’ve been thinking like Octavia—who only had a computer in a locked room, or as Double-Eight locked in the Pratt. But as Phoenix, I can go anywhere, even to an expo. I could become a buyer. Gain access to her accounts. Get proof. Ruin her.
An expo advertisement flashes on the screen, catching my attention. I take it in. There’s even a picture of Maxima Moreau’s stunning face, red striking hair, with lipstick to match.
Fingers shaking, I close my eyes. My heart rate raises by 30% and a dizzy spell hits as the revelation slaps me straight in the face. I’d always imagined doing everything from behind the scenes. If I become a buyer that means I’ll have to enter a building where she is and do what I never wanted to do again: I’ll have to meet Madame face to face.
At the end of the day, I prepare three investments to pitch to Chan—all Madame-related that will eventually help me control her empire. They're not in Chan's regular investment portfolio, but maybe he won't guess why I've really chosen them. I'll have to wow him with numbers if I want him to agree.
A knock on the door startles me and I automatically close the computer. Chan peeks his head through the door, eyes hopeful. “Anything significant?” he asks. It’s only been two hours since our last conversation.
My face pales. “Not yet, sir. It’ll take some time to get through the files.”